


be my sanctuary

by splendidlyimperfect



Series: what we choose to become [3]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Abuse, Dai Matou Enbu | Grand Magic Games Arc, Developing Relationship, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Fusion, Major Character Injury, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Serious Injuries, Sign Language, Tumblr: FTLGBTales, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unison Raids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2019-10-04 12:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17304467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splendidlyimperfect/pseuds/splendidlyimperfect
Summary: Sting and Rogue barely escape Sabertooth with their lives, and Sting turns to the only place he can think of to help - Fairy Tail. While they try to sort out their feelings and recover from the abuse Jiemma inflicted on them, Sting and Rogue must help the other guilds protect Fiore from their biggest threat yet - dragons.





	1. no heart in this storm

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [sanctuary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12084855) by [splendidlyimperfect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/splendidlyimperfect/pseuds/splendidlyimperfect). 



> After much deliberation, I decided that my very first fics for the fandom, [Sanctuary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12084855) and [Aftermath](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12192993) needed to be rewritten. I'm leaving the originals up because I still enjoy them, I just felt that they could be improved. There will be some significant differences in this version, but it will follow the same general plot of the original, and both stories will be combined into this one.
> 
> CW for past child abuse, past child sexual abuse, PTSD, self-harm and suicidal thoughts. Trigger warnings will also be posted on each individual chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue gets hurt protecting Sting, and Sting can't take it anymore. He turns to the only place he can think of for help - Fairy Tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for physical abuse/violence

Pain was easier to handle when Sting was outside himself.

Right now, for example, he knew that his body ached from the fight with Natsu and Gajeel, and that very soon it was going to get much worse, judging by the look on Jiemma’s face. There was a hot flush of embarrassment at being beaten, then a spike of fear at the imminence of being beaten in an entirely different way, but both feelings were dull. Muted. Those feelings belonged to Sting’s body, and right now, Sting wasn’t there.

From up here, outside his body where Sting watched himself flinch and cower, nothing hurt.

The first blow from Jiemma took Sting by surprise, and a tiny flash of pain made it through his consciousness as a cut opened up on his cheek and something cracked in his chest. Sting knew, logically, that it was bad, but he could deal with that later. Right now, he had to be quiet, say nothing, keep everything hidden so that Jiemma couldn’t yank out his feelings and rip them to pieces.

It was just pain, and Sting’s body could handle that.

 _Weaklings._ The word flew through the haze of Sting’s disjointed consciousness. _Losers._ The dull roar of Jiemma’s voice battered at the barrier between Sting’s body and mind, but he pushed against it, numbing himself.

 _You’re not here,_ he thought as he watched himself stumble to his feet. _It’s just pain._ Dimly, Sting realized that he had pushed Lector behind him as Jiemma’s fist hit his cheek. His body hit the wall again. Sting felt nothing.

Sting _was_ nothing.

“Blame me, Master.”

Sting’s body shuddered. That was Rogue’s voice, and it always made its way through Sting’s defenses. Sting would always come back for Rogue, even if it hurt. Fear wormed its way into Sting’s safe space, and he felt his consciousness fall.  

His chest ached.

He was cold.

_Shit._

Sting took a stuttered breath, tasted copper, and shook his head.

 _Get out,_ he thought desperately, wiping blood from his forehead. _Get out, you’re not here, run away._ He felt warmth behind his eyes and his breath caught in his throat. _Get out before he finds other ways to hurt you._

“I was weak.”

If Rogue’s first statement hadn’t slammed Sting back to his body before, his quiet whisper did now. Returning to himself was overwhelming, and Sting nearly threw up from the sensations that assaulted his body all at once, but he somehow managed to stay standing.

 _Don’t look at Rogue,_ Sting thought desperately. Seeing the pain on Rogue’s face right now would hurt more than any cracked rib or bloody nose, and if Jiemma saw that pain on Sting’s face, it would be over.

Sting looked at Rogue.

 _Stop,_ Sting signed, fingers moving quickly, hoping that Jiemma wouldn’t see. Wouldn’t understand.

Rogue’s gaze met Sting’s, then moved back to the ground at Jiemma’s feet. _Let me save you for once,_ his fingers said. _Please._

Rogue said something else but his voice was so far away, muffled by the blood pounding in Sting’s ears. The edges of Jiemma’s sharp laugh cut through the haze, but whatever he said was lost to the stab of fear that ran through Sting when Jiemma raised his hand.

_No._

Sting had spent too long outside of his body and now he couldn’t move, couldn’t scream at his feet to run fast enough. There wasn’t enough time.

Rogue’s eyes had just enough time to widen in fear before the blast hit him in the chest, knocking him backward through the crowd.

Right. There was a crowd.

Everything was silent until Rogue’s head hit the floor and then it all fell down around Sting – the gasps, Frosche’s scream, the sharp edge of Jiemma’s laugh. Rogue was so still, and the terrified ache in Sting’s chest ripped words from him, a scream that might have been Rogue’s name.

Sting tried to run, finally got his feet to listen to him but then there were fingers on his arm, yanking him away from the still way that Rogue’s hand unfolded on the concrete. Jiemma’s fingers dug into Sting’s skin and then pain exploded from the back of Sting’s skull as it hit the wall.

 _Leave,_ his brain begged. _It won’t hurt._

 _I can take it,_ Sting replied, and he dragged his gaze from Rogue’s still body to the grinning face of his guild master.

“What.” The word was sharp and full of blood. “What did you do?” Sting’s cheeks were warm, and he was vaguely aware that he was crying, sobs wrenching themselves from his chest. “What did you _DO?”_

The roaring in his ears was back again, and everything in Sting’s body was suddenly white-hot anger, fury that he drew from all the pain he’d hidden.

He didn’t realize he’d done anything until Jiemma’s eyes were blank and his body was slumped to the ground, smoking hole through his chest. Sting’s hands trembled, face hot as he gasped for air.

 _Rogue,_ Sting thought, eyes dragging along the ground until they landed on dark hair. Hair that was wet with blood. Sting staggered over, willing his body to listen to him as he dropped to his knees. He touched Rogue’s bruised cheek, trailed his fingers down to Rogue’s neck and frantically felt for something, some sign that the only corpse in this room was Jiemma’s.

Sting exhaled with relief when he found it – a thin fluttering beneath his fingers, faint, but there.

There were footsteps behind Sting and Minerva’s voice found its way through the fog around him. “That wa—”

“Shut up.” Sting had his voice back now. He was back inside himself and it hurt like hell, but he was here, and he wasn’t leaving. Not until Rogue was safe. “Shut the hell up.”

“Is Rogue dead?” Frosche’s eyes were wide and terrified and Sting took a shaky breath, trying to make a face that wouldn’t terrify the tiny creature.

“No,” Sting whispered, sliding his arms under Rogue’s body. Rogue’s weight was awkward, but Sting could handle it. Rogue would never be too heavy. Sting staggered to his feet, turning to glare at Minerva. “Get the fuck away from me,” he hissed, spitting blood on the floor at her feet.

Everything was silent, and Sting forced himself to keep his eyes forward, not to turn back and look at the limp form on the floor behind him.

Nobody stopped him as he staggered out the door and into the night.  

 

* * *

 

A frantic banging woke Natsu and he sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes and glancing out the window at the enormous steam clock. 3:27 a.m.

“Who the hell…” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood slowly, peering around. His teammates were all asleep and snoring softly.

“HELP!” The voice sounded familiar and Natsu moved for the door, cursing when he hit his shin on the end of his bed. “Please, help.”

Natsu swung the door open and was shocked to see Sting kneeling on the front steps, an unconscious Rogue in his arms. Sting’s face was badly bruised and tear-stained, and when he looked up at Natsu, he let out a shuddering breath.

“Sting, what—”

“Please help him,” Sting begged, gesturing at Rogue. “Please, he won’t wake up and he won’t stop bleeding.” A strangled sob escaped Sting’s throat, and he buried his face in Rogue’s chest, shoulders shaking.

“Gray!” Natsu shouted into the sleeping area. “Get your ass out of bed!” There was a mutter of _shut the fuck up, asshole,_ along with grumbles from the other teammates. “It’s an emergency, get out here!”

Natsu crouched down next to Sting and tried to take Rogue from his arms, but Sting gripped Rogue tightly, shaking his head. Natsu lay a gentle hand on Sting’s shoulder.

“Let me take him,” he said softly. “You’re exhausted.”

Sting pulled away from the touch on his shoulder, then reluctantly released his death-grip on Rogue.

Gray appeared around the corner dressed only in a pair of boxers, and his eyes widened as he saw Rogue’s unconscious body.

“Get Wendy,” Natsu ordered, and Gray obeyed without argument. Natsu lifted Rogue with ease, motioning for Sting to follow him into the inn’s sleeping quarters. Everyone was up and in various stages of undress, and Sting shied away from them, moving along the wall.

Natsu headed straight for his own bed, lying Rogue down gently.

“Sting!” Wendy appeared, placing a gentle hand on Sting’s arm. He flinched, backing up further against the wall and looking at her blankly. Natsu frowned. Sting’s face was bruised, cheek bleeding and eye swollen, and his arm was wrapped around his chest as he breathed heavily.

“Wendy, Rogue is hurt,” Natsu said. He directed her toward the bed and she made a soft sound of dismay. Natsu turned to Sting. “What happened?” Sting ignored him, breathing shakily and staring at Rogue. “Did someone attack you?”

Sting looked up at Natsu slowly, gaze unfocused. He nodded, then shook his head, then growled in frustration and covered his face with his hands.

“What’s going on?” Erza appeared, holding both Frosche and Lector, who appeared to have fallen asleep. Lucy was right behind her, giving Sting a concerned look.

“Sting, what happened?” she asked.

Natsu looked back at Sting and realized that he was shaking, and not just from pain. Natsu could smell it on him – fear, anger, frustration. Grief.

“Go,” Natsu said softly, turning to his friends. “Get Porlyusica. And Gramps, maybe, if he’s up.” Erza nodded. Lucy looked like she might argue, but Erza grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room.

Gray gave Natsu a questioning look and Natsu tipped his head uncertainly, nodding for Gray to stay but keep his distance. He turned back to Sting.

“C’mere,” Natsu said gently, gesturing to the bed across from Rogue and sitting down. Sting didn’t move and Natsu sighed, reaching out for Sting’s arm.

“Don’t!” Sting yanked his arm away, pushing himself further against the wall and letting out another sob. “Don’t touch me,” he whispered, pulling in on himself. Natsu’s frown deepened and he dropped his hand, chewing his lip and glancing over at Gray, who looked just as puzzled.

This wasn’t the same boy he’d fought in the arena earlier today. The cocky arrogance and flashy smile were gone, replaced by tears and bruises that Natsu was certain he hadn’t inflicted.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Sting’s voice was small and shaky, and he rubbed his hands up and down his bare arms, shivering. Natsu reached down and grabbed a sweater from his bag, offering it to Sting, but Sting’s gaze never wavered from Rogue’s bloody face.

“He’s very badly hurt,” Wendy said softly, letting another wave of her healing magic wash over him. “I can’t heal everything, but he shouldn’t be in pain.”

Rogue’s breath wasn’t coming in ragged gasps anymore, but he was still incredibly pale, and the wound on his chest made Natsu feel sick.

“He was t-trying to p-protect me.” A fresh wave of tears slid down Sting’s cheeks and he scrubbed them away furiously, wincing when his hand came into contact with an open cut on his cheek.

“What happened?” Natsu asked again, voice gentle. “To him? And you?” he added, eyes skipping over the various bruises on Sting’s face and chest. There was no way those injuries were from the games today.

Sting just shook his head, wiping his eyes and taking a deep, shuddering breath.

“I can’t,” he whispered finally, stepping closer to Rogue and then backing up again, making a sound that was almost a whimper. “I d-did s-something, I think I… I did… I th-thought Rogue was d-dead and I j-just…” Sting trailed off, wrapping his arms around himself.

“It’s okay,” Natsu said gently, wanting to move closer to Sting but not wanting to set off what seemed to be progressing into a panic attack. “Whatever happened, we can—”

He stopped, staring at the guild mark on Sting’s shoulder. It was half-burned away, skin blistered and red, some parts turned black and peeling. The realization hit Natsu right in the stomach as he put the pieces together.

“Jiemma did this, didn’t he?” His words were hard and cold and he stood abruptly, clenching his fists in anger. “That bastard did this to you, didn’t he?” Flames flickered around his hands as he envisioned all the things he wanted to do to—

“He’s dead.” Sting’s voice was flat and Natsu turned to him, eyes wide. “He’s gone. I killed him.” 


	2. a head full of fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sting is slowly losing his grip on everything, and Natsu just wants to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for panic attacks and flashbacks to abuse

“I killed him.”

The words tasted like ash and Sting choked on them, shaking his head and biting his tongue. He could hear Natsu’s saying something, quiet and concerned, but Sting squeezed his eyes shut and pushed himself as far back into the wall as he could.

 _Get out._ Everything in him wanted to escape, to leave this behind because _fuck_ it hurt. Something in Sting’s chest was definitely broken, bones scraping against each other and making each inhale agonizing, and every time he coughed, he could taste blood in the back of his throat.

“… please, look at me, c’mon…”

Natsu’s words floated around Sting and he cracked his eyes open, looking past Natsu’s concerned face and staring at Rogue. He was too still. There was so much blood.

“… gonna be okay…” 

Maybe if Sting stayed, maybe if he lived in the pain and didn’t run away, maybe then Rogue would wake up. If he didn’t move, didn’t think, didn’t breathe, maybe none of this would be real, and Rogue’s eyes would open, and everything wouldn’t be broken.

“… come sit down, you’re gonna fall over…”

Sting’s legs gave out slowly and he sunk to the ground, aching back scraping down the rough wall. He pulled his legs up, letting out a sob at the pain in his chest, and dropped his forehead to his knees.

“I killed him,” he whispered again, the image of Jiemma’s large, still body floating in his mind. _The crack of Rogue’s head hitting the concrete; white-hot wrath flooding through Sting’s body and concentrating in the palm of his hand, letting it free and—_

Bile rose in his throat. He quickly turned to the side and threw up, pain shooting through his chest as he heaved and shook. 

 “… help, Gray, please, I don’t… can’t touch him…”

There were sounds, and another voice – _Gray’s voice,_ Sting recognized absently – but it was all so blurry. Soft. Inside Sting was blood and sharp edges, but outside it was all fading away.

He was so, so tired.

“Sting, look at me.”

Cold hit the back of Sting’s hand and his eyes flew open to see a thin sheen of frost creeping up his arms. He flicked his gaze up to see Gray crouched on the floor a little ways away from him.

“There you go,” Gray said gently, letting the ice magic dissolve. “Focus on me, okay? Take a breath.”

Sting tried to follow Gray’s instructions but his chest hurt so badly and he clenched his teeth, trying to keep the pained sound inside.

“H-hurts,” he gasped, shaking his head from side to side. “P-please…”

“I know,” Gray said, inching closer, but backing up when Sting recoiled from him. “You’re pretty badly injured. Can Wendy take a look at you?”

“No,” Sting whispered, pulling his knees tighter against him, even though the pain in his chest was almost unbearable. “D-don’t touch me, n-no, I have- I need to…”

 _Weak_.

Jiemma’s voice echoed in his ears, dug its sharp claws into his mind and squeezed.

_Pathetic._

_Worthless._

“No,” Sting whispered, biting his lip. “No, I’m—”

Jiemma was gone. Sting had killed him. Rogue had been hurt, and it was the only way.

“I had to,” Sting sobbed. “I h-had—he was, he would have k-killed Rogue.”

 _Why are you crying?_ The words scraped across his mind like broken glass. _You’re useless._

 _Shut up,_ Sting thought, dropping his head to his hands and pressing his palms into his eyes. _Leave me alone, you’re gone…_

“… Wendy, we have… don’t know what to do...” Natsu sounded like he was going to cry and Sting groaned, pressing his forehead to his knees and biting the inside of his cheek. There were footsteps and moving furniture and he just wanted to be _gone,_ he needed to get out, get away, to _stop._

“I’m sorry about this.” Wendy’s voice was sad, and Sting flinched when he felt a gentle touch on his forehead.

“D-don’t,” he stuttered, but warmth spread down his temples and the sides of his neck, taking his consciousness with it until there was nothing but a soft, welcome dark.

 

* * *

 

Natsu rested his chin on his knees and looked over at Sting’s sleeping form. He yawned, rubbing his eyes and glancing out the window. The sun was setting, pink and orange tendrils of light brushing the dark edges of buildings and receding into the night.

“Hey.” Gray’s voice was soft as he sat down next to Natsu, nudging him gently with his shoulder.

“Mm.” Natsu’s body felt heavy, every bit of him exhausted even though he hadn’t even left the room today.

“You hungry?” Natsu glanced over to see that Gray was holding a small bag of pastries, and Natsu’s stomach rumbled. He took the food gratefully and dug in.

The two of them sat in silence for a while, trying not to look at Rogue’s still body, and the shaky way that Sting’s chest rose and fell. Porlyusica had attempted to heal Sting once Wendy had put him to sleep, and she had managed to fix his broken rib, but between him and Rogue their injuries had been too severe to treat everything completely.

“How…” Natsu started to speak, then cut himself off, shaking his head. His stomach rebelled a bit against the pastries but he swallowed. “He—they…”

“Yeah.” Gray sighed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Natsu glanced up at him, taking in his disheveled hair and rumpled shirt. Gray had spent the better part of the afternoon running errands for Porlyusica – getting clean bandages and potions from the apothecary, or delivering messages to other healers.

“You look like shit,” Natsu said, trying to keep his voice light but failing. Gray huffed out a short laugh, nodding over at Sting.

“Not as bad as him.”

Natsu shook his head, eyes drifting over to Sting’s bruised face. Where was the arrogant dragon slayer that Natsu had fought yesterday? The hard edges to Sting’s face were gone, and right now, he looked so young.

“I should have kicked Jiemma’s ass when I had the chance.” Natsu’s voice was hard and he felt almost dizzy, grounding himself with the sharp pain of nails digging into the back of his hand. “I didn’t... fuck, I should’ve...” He growled, shaking his head.

“Stop that.” Gray reached out and grabbed Natsu’s hand, running his thumb over the red divots that marked Natsu’s dark skin. Natsu’s breath hitched at the gentle touch, and heat rushed to his cheeks. “Don’t be stupid,” Gray added. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Natsu swallowed, expecting Gray to pull away, and he was surprised when Gray kept his fingers wrapped lightly around Natsu’s. Gray’s hands were unusually warm, and the soft drag of his thumb over the back of Natsu’s hand was making Natsu feel light-headed.

“I ju—”

“You always blame yourself,” Gray interrupted quietly. Natsu frowned at the pensive expression on Gray’s face, then glanced back over to Sting.

“How could someone...” Natsu shook his head, letting out a frustrated breath. “They’re… can you... if someone here...”

Gray slipped his fingers between Natsu’s and squeezed, pressing their sweaty palms together. Natsu froze momentarily, then slowly closed his own fingers over the back of Gray’s hand.

They sat quietly together until the sunlight had almost entirely faded from the sky, and the only light in the room came from the lanterns hanging just outside the open window. A cool breeze dusted the room with the scent of the flowers that crept up the sides of the inn. Everyone else had been moved to different rooms to give Sting and Rogue their privacy, so it was just the four of them in the dark.

Gray yawned suddenly, the act seeming to catch him by surprise. He covered his mouth, then rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

“C’mon, Snowflake,” Natsu said, tugging on Gray’s hand gently and gesturing to the pillow. “Bed. Before you fall asleep on your face.”

Gray didn’t argue, and Natsu felt a pang of disappointment when their hands separated. It wasn’t the first time they’d accidentally-on-purpose ended up holding hands lately, and Natsu kept telling himself that he was going to stop looking for meaning when it happened. Every time they were alone lately, things were… softer.

“’bout you?” Gray murmured sleepily, looking up at Natsu. Natsu shrugged, glancing around the room. Rogue was sleeping on Natsu’s bed, and all the other beds were unmade after the hurried evacuation in the early hours of the morning. There was one on the far side of the room, but if Natsu was being honest, he didn’t want to move away from Gray.

“Just... gonna stay up,” he said, yawning. Gray snorted, nudging Natsu’s side with his foot and shuffling over a bit to make room. He didn’t make eye contact with Natsu as he gestured to the bed.

“C’mere.” Gray’s voice was hesitant, and Natsu was glad that the room was dark now, because he was sure that the heat in his cheeks was visible. Part of him wanted to come back with a joke, or a jab, or to tease Gray about something, but he was just _so tired._

Carefully, he slid down until he was facing Gray, arm tucked under the pillow, other fist tucked beneath his chin. He sighed, relaxing into the deep pull of exhaustion. Sting had broken down, but Natsu felt like he’d been the one who had spent the afternoon crying.

Gray shuffled a bit until his knee was touching Natsu’s, and the touch made something ripple through Natsu’s chest. Natsu couldn’t help exhaling softly, realizing how little room was between them. The bed wasn’t meant for two grown men, but here they were, taking up its space with their bodies.

“Hey.” Gray’s voice was barely a whisper, and Natsu sucked in a breath, realizing suddenly that he was shivering and his skin didn’t fit quite right.

“’s okay,” he said, voice tight. “Just tired.”

Something brushed against him and he jumped before he realized it was just Gray’s knuckles, lightly skimming his arm. Natsu hesitated for a moment, then brought his hand down until their fingers met, and Gray slid his hand into Natsu’s. The warmth and weight in Natsu’s palm helped him breathe a little easier.

“I feel stupid being upset,” Natsu admitted after a moment. He felt Gray shift closer to him again, and Natsu felt like he was going to cry. “I’m not the one who—”

“It’s okay to hurt for other people.” Gray squeezed Natsu’s hand tightly. Everywhere they touched felt like a promise that everything would be all right. When did they get so close? And why weren’t either of them pulling away?

“Yeah,” Natsu whispered, feeling every place Gray’s fingers rested against his skin. This was different than the other casual touches they’d shared when nobody was looking. This felt like he was falling, like pushing past a curtain and into a dark room where there was either dread or safety waiting for him.

When Gray tugged Natsu into his arms, everything broke apart. The tight ball in Natsu’s chest unraveled, and tugged out the tears he’d been holding in all afternoon. Gray’s arms pulled him tight, held Natsu carefully against his chest as tears wet his shirt and shoulders shook beneath his hands.

Neither of them said anything, just pressed together in their sorrow, Nastu wrapping an arm around Gray’s waist and pressing his forehead to Gray’s shoulder. Here, in the quiet dark, with nobody to see the way they fit together, it was okay to fall apart.

 

* * *

_Sting was ten._

_He stared at his reflection in the mirror, frowning. It was cracked down the middle and he was different on each side, both his grown-up face, but he knew inside that he was little. He was his ten-year-old self, and he was terrified._

_The mirror disappeared and then he was in Jiemma’s office, trying to see over the enormous desk. Outside it was snowing, heavy flakes blowing in through the open windows._

_“You’re weak.”_

_The voice came from nowhere and then a hand met his face, and Sting’s body flew backward into a shelf, books crashing down around him. Jiemma was there, lips moving, but the ringing in Sting’s ears was so loud and he couldn’t hear anything._

_Why was it snowing?_

_A fist hit his stomach and Sting doubled over, gasping for air. Something in him fell apart, slipped away, and suddenly he wasn’t there anymore. He was hovering in the corner of the room, watching the pain happen to somebody else._

_From up here, Sting didn’t recognize himself. It wasn’t him, just a scared little boy with wide blue eyes, a bloody nose, and tears on his cheeks._

_Had he really been so little, the first time he’d left his body?_

_Jiemma was gone now, had dissolved somehow, and the boy curled up into himself, pressed against the wall. Snow howled around the room, battering through the windows and turning to shards of ice that made tiny cuts on the boy’s arms._

_“I’m sorry,” Sting whispered. He tried to force himself back, but it was too late now – he wasn’t the boy anymore, and the things that had happened to him didn’t fit in there. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left.”_

_The snow whipped around the room, howling into a raging spiral of ice and wind, sound reaching a painful crescendo before exploding into silence._

_The boy was gone._

_Sting was alone._

_A quiet voice said, “Wake up.”_

 

* * *

 

When Sting woke, a pleasant numbness flowed through his body. He looked down at his hands – he could feel them, but it was like they weren’t real. He wasn’t real.

“Hey.” That was Natsu’s voice. Sting looked up tentatively to see Natsu sitting on the edge of the bed where Sting appeared to be lying. How had he gotten here? He pushed himself up slowly, eyes moving around the room until they landed on Rogue.

Rogue was still unconscious, lying on a bed that was pushed up directly next to Sting’s. Mottled bruises covered his face, left eye swollen nearly shut. His shirt had been removed at some point and bandages were wrapped around his chest, covering the ugly wound that had nearly taken his life.

“He’s gonna be okay.” Natsu tipped his head to catch Sting’s eye and Sting looked at him, trying not to cringe at the look of pity in Natsu’s eyes. “Wendy and Porlyusica managed to heal everything major, he’s just sleeping now.”

Sting shivered, shifting closer to Rogue. He wasn’t sure if he was actually cold, or if the snow from the dream was messing with him.

“How’re you feeling?” Natsu’s voice was heavy, and Sting blinked at him, slowly, like he was underwater. He didn’t answer for several moments.

“Not.” Sting frowned. That didn’t make sense. “Not… hurting.” He looked down at himself and realized that his arms were bandaged, and his broken rib had been set and healed.

“That’s good.”

There was an awkward silence as Sting curled up against the headboard next to Rogue, both relieved and angry that his chest didn’t ache. It felt better, but that meant someone had touched him while he was sleeping. The thought made him want to throw up again.

He reached out slowly, brushing the backs of his fingers over Rogue’s cheek.

“Wendy said he should wake up soon,” Natsu said quietly. “You saved his life.”

Sting’s mind skipped backward, memories vague and blurry. Rogue, motionless in his arms, blood soaking through Sting’s shirt. Darkness, mazes of streets and back alleys, Sting’s arms going numb and hands starting to freeze. Soft, irregular puffs of breath against Sting’s neck that forced his feet forward, even when he thought he couldn’t.

And then he’d been on Fairy Tail’s doorstep, without realizing where he’d been heading.

Why had he come here?

“’m sorry,” Sting mumbled, rubbing his face.

“For what?” Natsu frowned, crossing his legs under him. Sting shivered and Natsu gestured to a sweater that was lying on the bed next to him. It was soft, and it smelled like pine trees. If it was Natsu’s, he’d clearly borrowed it from Gray.

“Not your problem,” Sting said, tugging the sweater on carefully. “We can’t—”

“Don’t be stupid,” Natsu said, then raised his hands when Sting winced. “Sorry, that was… I mean that you’re not a problem. You don’t have to leave.”

Sting gazed at Natsu, brow furrowed. “What—we can’t… I don’t h-have anything,” he said uncertainly.

“Have anything?” Natsu looked puzzled. “Clothes, you mean? You can borrow stuff.”

“To, to pay you back,” Sting said. He ran a hand down Rogue’s arm and twined their fingers together, happy that Rogue’s hand was warm.

“Sting, you don’t—” Natsu cut himself off, shaking his head. “We’re not expecting anything. We would never ask you to… no. You can stay here as long as you need.”

Sting chewed his lip, staring at the hem of Natsu’s pants. There was a stain just above a thread that was fraying.

The door opened quietly and Sting recognized the footsteps as Gray’s. There was an awkward silence, and when Sting looked up, Gray and Natsu were standing a strange distance apart, both looking at the floor.

“You, uh… Wendy wanted to know how you were feeling.” Gray’s eyes met Sting’s, and Sting was surprised to find not pity, but a look of understanding. He swallowed, rubbing his face again.

“I’m—”

“S… st’g?” A quiet mumble interrupted Sting and his eyes flicked to Rogue, who had cracked open one eye and was looking up at him blearily. “Y… ‘kay?” Sting let out a wet exhale, brushing his fingers across Rogue’s forehead and gently bringing up Rogue’s hand to his lips.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Rogue’s knuckles. Rogue blinked as if he didn’t quite believe Sting, then looked slowly over at Gray and Natsu.

“H-hey,” he said quietly. Squeezing Sting’s hand, he whispered softly, “s-safe?”

“Yeah,” Sting said, ignoring the other two and laying down next to Rogue as he ran his fingers gently through Rogue’s hair. Rogue was alive, and awake, and that was all that mattered. “We’re safe, and he’s never going to hurt you again.”


	3. you are my safe place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue wakes up, Sting can't stop feeling guilty, and Natsu tries to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for talk of child abuse

Rogue was awake.

Natsu and Gray’s retreating footsteps were followed by the door clicking shut, but Sting ignored the sounds, unable to pull his gaze away from Rogue.

“We’re okay,” he whispered, running his fingers gently over Rogue’s cheek, careful to avoid the dark bruising that mottled Rogue’s skin. “We’re safe.” Sting pressed their foreheads together, running his fingers through Rogue’s hair.

“Wh-what…” Rogue struggled to speak, blinking slowly and bringing his less-injured hand up to touch Sting’s cheek. “Y’r hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Sting insisted, shuffling as close as possible, trying to feel the warmth of Rogue’s body in as many places as he could. Rogue was alive. Everything hurt and it was all broken, but Rogue was here and maybe that meant it could be okay.

“Wh’appened?” Rogue mumbled, slurring his words together. Sting shook his head, gripping Rogue’s fingers tightly. “W-why’re we—”

“We’re safe,” Sting insisted, biting his tongue against the torrent of feelings in his chest. If he didn’t talk about Jiemma, if he didn’t let his mind get pulled back to that moment – the white-hot fury, the sickening _crunch_ of Rogue’s head hitting the stone – maybe it wouldn’t be real.

“You’re crying,” Rogue said softly. His thumb brushed along Sting’s cheek, eyes flicking over the cuts and bruises on Sting’s face. “We—Jiemma, he…”

“He’s gone.” Sting’s throat was closing up again and he felt the prickling running up his arms – his body was trying to force him out. Trying to keep him safe, away from the pain. Sting ground his teeth and refused to leave. He had to stay here, for Rogue. “He’s dead.”

An expression of surprise made its way slowly across Rogue’s face, dragging his eyebrows together. It was quickly replaced by relief. Sting bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep himself from crying.

The two of them lay in silence for several minutes, Sting pressing himself up against Rogue’s chest to listen to the soft rhythm of Rogue’s heart. The beat was erratic and Rogue’s breathing was shaky, but he was here and he was alive.

“I’m sorry,” Sting whispered, fingers trailing gently up and down Rogue’s back, skipping over the bandages that wound around his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

Rogue pulled back and gestured for Sting to help him sit up. Clenching his teeth against the pain, Rogue let Sting push a few pillows behind him until he could lean back against the headboard. He looked around the room, eyes landing on the door.

 _I don’t think they’re listening,_ Sting signed with shaky hands. Rogue gave Sting a soft smile – it had always been easier for them to talk this way. Rogue had all but stopped speaking several months after joining Sabertooth, and the two boys had become used to communicating with their hands instead. It was secret. Safe. Something Jiemma couldn’t take away from them.

And sometimes it was easier than saying things out loud. Things like _I care for you, you’re special to me, I love you._

 _Why are you sorry?_ Rogue signed slowly, one-handed, keeping his injured arm tight against his stomach. His eyes searched Sting’s face and Sting shook his head, swallowing hard and rubbing his face.

 _My fault,_ he signed eventually. _I lost the fight. You almost died._ Sting’s cheeks were wet and he wiped at them angrily, frustration and anger swelling in his chest. _I thought I’d lost you._

 _You saved me,_ Rogue argued. He prodded gently at the bandage around his chest and Sting batted Rogue’s hand away, shaking his head. Rogue sighed, nudging for Sting to move closer. _Why are we here?_

Sting sighed, chewing on his lip. _I didn’t…_ he hesitated. _I didn’t know where else to go._ He shuffled closer to Rogue until their knees were touching and he continued signing one-handed. _They… I didn’t…_

 _It’s okay._ Rogue nudged Sting with his knee. _Do you trust them?_

Sting glanced over at the closed door, then around them at the messy room, eyes skipping over unfamiliar clothes and unmade beds. He rubbed the fabric of the sweater he was wearing between his fingertips, letting the sensation ground him to the present.

“Yeah,” he said softly, finally looking up into Rogue’s eyes. “Yeah, I do.”

 

* * *

 

Natsu leaned against the wall of the inn, just down the hallway from the room where they’d left Sting and Rogue. He chewed on his lip, tipping his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. Every part of him felt exhausted, despite sleeping surprisingly well.

Well, maybe not surprisingly. He’d woken up earlier, curled up with his back pressed against Gray’s chest and Gray’s lip brushing his neck. It had felt so _good,_ so right that Natsu had relaxed into it, covered Gray’s hand with his fingers, tucked his foot between Gray’s legs.

Then Gray had started to stir, and Natsu had realized what he was doing, and before Gray could wake up and figure out what was going on, Natsu had untangled from him and bolted out of the room.

_Stupid._

A tap on his foot brought him out of his reverie and Natsu jumped, banging his head against the wall. “Fuck,” he hissed, looking up to see Gray standing there, a look that was somewhere between confusion and guilt written on his face.

“Hey,” Gray said, swallowing and shifting awkwardly. Natsu waved at him, only belatedly realizing how stupid he looked. _What the fuck, brain?_ he thought, groaning inwardly. How did Gray manage to do this to him? Make him feel stupid and special and awkward as hell?

Gray gestured down the hallway, raising his eyebrows, and Natsu shrugged. Rogue and Sting had been in there for over an hour now, but Natsu was uncertain about interrupting them. He was uncertain about everything, right now.

Fortunately, someone else made the decision for him.

“Are they both awake?” Porlyusica stalked down the hallway, scowl on her face, and Natsu nodded. “Good.” She walked up to the door, rapped on it once, then pushed it open with her usual force.

Natsu and Gray followed uncertainly, and when they entered the room, Natsu was happy to see that both Sting and Rogue were sitting up, Rogue leaning back against the headboard. Sting’s eyes flicked up to meet Natsu’s, and Natsu watched as a million emotions made their way across Sting’s face. Anger, frustration, humiliation, relief… fear.

“How’s your breathing?” Porlyusica asked Rogue sharply, sitting down on the chair next to the bed and reaching out to check Rogue’s bandages. Rogue flinched and Sting raised his lip in a snarl, pulling Rogue protectively toward himself. Natsu blinked in surprise.

“Don’t touch him,” Sting growled. Porlyusica sighed, giving Sting a look that would have wilted most men. He stood his ground, lower lip shaking.

“I have to check his wounds,” Porlyusica said finally, sitting up and looking at Rogue with her eyebrows raised. “For that, I need to use my hands. May I take a look?”

Rogue’s face was unreadable, other than the tightness in his jaw, and Natsu hesitated to move forward.

“Fine,” Rogue said eventually. He glanced over at Gray and Natsu, giving them a wan smile through the bruising around his eye. Porlyusica leaned forward again, hands moving slower this time, touching only where necessary. Rogue winced a few times, but Porlyusica looked pleased. She handed Rogue a bottle filled with a strange blue mixture.

“For the pain,” she explained. Her gaze turned to Sting and Natsu watched him withdraw, face hard and angry.

“No,” he growled, pulling his arms around himself protectively. “I’m fine.”

Porlyusica sighed. “You had some fairly serious injuries. Wendy healed most of them, but I need to—”

“I’m _fine,”_ Sting repeated, cheeks flushed red. “I’ve had worse.” He played with the edge of the sweater Natsu had lent him.

“At least take this,” Porlyusica said, handing him another of the bottles. Sting shook his head fiercely, digging his fingers into his biceps.

“Don’t need it,” he muttered stubbornly. Natsu took a tentative step forward and Sting’s gaze flicked up to meet him, eyes hard and rimmed with red. “What do you want?” he asked harshly. Natsu looked at Sting sadly. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Sting,” Rogue hissed, putting a hand on Sting’s leg. “They’re just trying to hel—”

“I don’t _want it!”_ Sting shouted. He dropped his head to his knees and let out a soft, sad sound. “Take care of Rogue. Not me.”

“Sting,” Natsu said gently, settling down on the end of the bed. “You were hurt really badly.”

“I _said,_ I’m fine.” Sting didn’t look up. “You think this is the first broken rib I’ve dealt with?”

Natsu flinched at that, hot anger and pity coursing through him in equal measure. Jiemma had…

“This wasn’t the first time,” Natsu said slowly, looking over at Gray, who was wearing a similar shocked expression. “He—”

Sting snorted. “Yeah,” he said shortly. “So I can deal with it, okay? Just leave me alone.” 

“Sting,” Rogue said softly, touching Sting’s forearm with gentle fingers. “Please? For me?” His voice was barely audible, and Natsu could hear the grinding of Sting’s teeth from where he sat. Indecision and acceptance warred across Sting’s face, and eventually he sighed, letting Rogue squeeze his hand.

“Fine,” he mumbled.

“Do you want us—should we leave?” Natsu asked hesitantly, moving to stand up. Sting shrugged – the fight had gone out of him and instead of anger, his face was blank. He looked defeated, and Natsu nearly reached over to grab his hand.

“Doesn’t matter,” Sting said as Porlyusica moved to the other side of the bed. She gestured for him to tug off his sweater and he did so reluctantly, fingers white from gripping the fabric until he finally pulled it over his head.

Natsu gasped softly and he saw Sting’s head drop, face red with shame. His upper back, usually covered by his vest, was covered in scars. Thick white lines criss-crossed over each other, and dark bruises in various shades of healing decorated his upper back and shoulders.

Natsu felt a deep rage stirring in his stomach. “Are they all from—”

“Yes.” Sting cut Natsu off without looking at him, digging his fingers into the mattress. Rogue reached out and touched the back of Sting’s arm, but Sting ignored the gesture. He winced as Porlyusica pressed around the bruising on his ribs, and Natsu could see that he was trying desperately not to pull away from the touch.

A deep rage stirred in Natsu’s stomach and he clenched his fists, resisting the urge to punch something. That would only make things worse.

“It seems to be better, Wendy can do some mo—”

“It’s _fine,”_ Sting whispered, and Natsu snapped.

“It’s NOT fine!” He jumped to his feet, hands tight at his sides. “That bastard—and nobody said anything, not even your guild, what kind of friends are those?” Sting didn’t answer, just lowered his head and closed his eyes. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“Natsu!” Gray hissed angrily, grabbing Natsu’s wrist as Sting turned and snarled, pushing Porlyusica’s hands away.

“I tried!” Sting shouted, pushing himself up off the bed and glaring at Natsu. “You don’t think I didn’t think of that? Of course I tried to leave.” He dug his fingernails into his palms. “First time I tried I was—I was eleven.”

Natsu felt like he’d been punched in the chest and he sucked in a breath. Sting laughed mirthlessly.

“Yeah, some of us didn’t have a family.” Sting’s words were stuttered and angry and thick with tears. “I tried to leave. He found me with this family I was—I tried to hide. And he…” Sting squeezed his eyes shut, collapsing back on the bed and letting out a soft sob. “He killed them. All of them, even the—the kids. And I was my fault, if I hadn’t run, I—”

Natsu felt like he was going to be sick, and when Gray’s hand moved from his wrist to twine their fingers together, Natsu held on tightly. The feeling grounded him, kept him from screaming or hitting something in his horrified anger.

Porlyusica stood up, setting the blue vial on the table next to Sting’s bed. She looked over at Gray and raised her eyebrows.

“I’ll send Wendy by in a bit,” she said quietly, then turned and left the room.

The room was quiet save for Sting’s soft sobs. Rogue shifted closer to Sting, running a hand up his arm and then looking over at Natsu and Gray. His eyes were so full of pain.

Natsu squeezed Gray’s hand, then moved over to the bed, crouching down in front of Sting. He reached out a hand, then stopped, pulling back.

“Can I—is it okay if I touch you?” he asked softly, fighting to keep the anger and frustration out of his voice. Sting didn’t respond, just buried his face in his hands and continued to cry. “I’m gonna touch your knee now, okay?” Natsu said. Sting didn’t respond, and Natsu put his hand out again and brushed his fingers against Sting’s leg.

Sting flinched but didn’t move away, and Natsu moved until he was eventually resting his whole hand over Sting’s knee.

“I’m so sorry,” Natsu murmured, squeezing lightly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Sting shook his head furiously, rubbing his eyes and looking up at Natsu with hate and anger etched into the bruises on his face. “I d-did…” He hiccupped and exhaled shakily. “I did so many things I didn’t want to do.” His voice was full of shame, and Natsu’s heart ached.

Gray sat down in the chair Porlyusica had been in, far enough away from Sting and Rogue that he wouldn’t be threatening. “You were just a kid,” Gray said to Sting, fingers tracing the shape of his necklace, eyes sad. “You were a kid, and he was a monster.”

Natsu’s chest hurt. Gray knew all to well about monsters.

“You’re safe here,” Natsu said hesitantly, running his thumb over Sting’s thigh in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Sting didn’t pull away, which Natsu took as a good sign.

Sting sniffled, wiping his face. Natsu watched Sting’s expression slowly shift from grief to blank indifference as Sting pulled on himself. He looked down at Natsu’s hand on his knee and stared at it dully.

“I need…” Sting took a few shaky breaths, blinking slowly and then looking up past Natsu’s shoulder. Rogue squeezed his arm gently, tugging Sting back towards him.

“We need to be alone,” Rogue said quietly, looking up at Natsu and Gray. Sting’s hands dropped into his lap and he shivered. “Please,” Rogue added. “We—thank you, for everything. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Gray said, standing slowly and reaching out to touch Natsu’s shoulder. His fingers were cold against Natsu’s skin and Natsu suppressed a shiver at the contact.

Natsu gave Sting’s knee one last squeeze, then let Gray pull him to his feet. He watched sadly as Rogue stroked Sting’s back, whispering something to him softly.

“We’ll—we can bring you something to eat in a bit,” Natsu said, feeling small and helpless. Rogue nodded, keeping his eyes on Sting. As Gray tugged Natsu toward the door, Natsu could hear Rogue’s gentle voice, whispering the same phrase over and over into Sting’s hair.

_It’s okay, you’re safe, I love you._

 

* * *

 

Sting shook in Rogue’s arms, eyes unfocused, breathing shaky.

“It’s okay, love,” Rogue murmured, stroking Sting’s hair and trying to pull him back to himself. “You’re safe. I love you.”

“It doesn’t matter how much good I do,” Sting whispered, shaking his head. His voice was hollow and he clenched and unclenched his fists. “I can’t make up for the awful things I’ve done. I don’t deserve th—”

“Sting,” Rogue interrupted softly, but Sting cut him off.

“You know it’s true.” His voice was hard and tight. “I can’t excuse what I’ve—”

“He _beat you.”_ Rogue’s voice was hard and Sting flinched, pulling away from him. “You see? He made you so afraid that you’re even scared of _me_. And you _know_ you can trust me.”

Sting relaxed back into Rogue’s arms. “I was… I just wanted to keep you safe,” Sting whispered, looking down at the bed and twisting the blanket between his fingers. “It was me or you, and I couldn’t watch him hurt you.”

“And how do you think I felt?” Rogue’s voice was tinged with anger and frustration. “It was hell, waiting in our room every night for you to come back, bleeding and bruised and broken. I felt so guilty. I _still_ feel guilty. Why do you think I tried to take the blame this time?”

Sting put his head in his hands and pulled his hair in frustration.

“What else could I have done?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” was Rogue’s soft response. “I don’t think there was any good answer.”

Sting brought his hand up to Rogue’s chest, resting lightly over the spot where Jiemma’s blast had hit him. He shuddered, remembering the sticky blood soaking through Rogue’s shirt and staining Sting’s fingers. They were both silent for a long time.

Finally, Sting removed his hand and pulled out of Rogue’s embrace, sitting up and running his hand over his face.

 _I don’t know how to feel,_ he admitted, slipping into the familiarity of signs. _I feel angry, and sad, and… I’m scared._ He looked up at Rogue and reached out his hand, touching Rogue’s cheek and running his finger along Rogue’s bottom lip. Rogue closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh.

This wasn’t new – the touching. They had shared a room at Sabertooth and had spent nearly every night in the same bed, legs entwined, holding each other against the nightmares. It had never gone farther than that, though. Jiemma would have found out and would have used it against him.

 _He’s gone,_ Rogue signed, shivering at Sting’s touch. Sting felt his heartbeat quicken and he drew his fingers down across Rogue’s cheek, brushing Rogue’s hair behind his ear and gazing sadly at the bruises that marred Rogue’s face.

Sting locked eyes with Rogue, breath catching in his throat at the intense way Rogue gazed at him. Rogue’s hand came up to touch Sting’s hair, and without hesitating, Sting leaned in and kissed him.

There was no awkward pause, no fear or uncertainty, just a soft sigh as their lips pressed together. Sting’s fingers moved into Rogue’s hair, other hand trailing down Rogue’s chest, and he kissed Rogue so, so gently, hoping it could convey all the things he’d always wanted to say.

He could hear Rogue’s heart fluttering, felt it pounding under his fingertips, and he knew it matched the frantic beats he could feel in his own veins.

After a minute they broke apart, both breathing shakily, foreheads pressed together and tentative smiles on their faces.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Sting whispered, combing his fingers through Rogue’s hair.

“Me too,” Rogue sighed. He leaned in for another kiss, soft and sweet, then murmured, “sleep?” against Sting’s lips.

“Sleep,” Sting agreed. Every part of him was exhausted, drained, and he felt like he’d been torn to pieces and put back together in an entirely different way.

Rogue shuffled down onto the bed, turning so that Sting could slide down behind him, looping an arm over Rogue’s stomach. Sting buried his face in the back of Rogue’s neck, inhaling his familiar scent and letting contentment wash over him. Tomorrow would bring a mess of problems, but for now he was warm, safe, and holding the boy he loved.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Rogue’s neck, and then both of them drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	4. hate the way i need you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rogue and Gajeel have a talk, Makarov appears, and Sting says some things he doesn't mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of past abuse, mentions of self-harm, dissociation

When Rogue woke it was early morning again – they had slept away an entire day. The sun was peering its way through the curtains and it warmed Rogue’s face. He took a shallow breath, testing the pain in his chest, and smiled when he saw the hand resting on his stomach. Sting was still pressed to his back, cheek nuzzled in Rogue’s hair, breath tickling the back of Rogue’s neck with each soft snore.

Rogue sighed, shuffling until he was facing Sting, and ran a thumb over Sting’s cheek. Sting’s face was so soft – the ever-present line between his eyes was gone, and even through the bruises, he looked peaceful. Rogue touched the scar above Sting’s eyebrow and felt tears welling up in his eyes again. Could they really be free? Could he touch Sting like this now, and know it wouldn’t be used against him?

He pressed a kiss to Sting’s forehead, then slipped out of the embrace, sitting up carefully and pushing himself shakily to his feet. Everything ached and he felt stiff all over, but he could breathe well enough and his legs worked. He looked down at his bare, bandaged chest, then reached down into Natsu’s bag and grabbed a spare shirt. Tugging it over his head, he shuffled out of the small room.

The Honeybone Inn wasn’t large, but it had another sleeping area where the rest of the team members had moved, as well as an extra room for the guild master. Both of the doors were closed, but the hallway washroom was open, so Rogue pushed the door open and stepped inside.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a moment, barely recognizing himself beneath the swelling and dark bruises. Bringing a hand up to his split lip, he winced, the echo of Jiemma’s fist still imprinted on his skin.

_Your death will be a lesson for the rest of them._

Jiemma’s voice scraped at the inside of Rogue’s mind and he leaned heavily against the sink, clenching his teeth against the bile that was rising in his throat. Was Jiemma really dead? What had happened? All he remembered was a blast of magic, then _pain, pain, pain_ and the sound of Sting screaming.

Had Sting… did he…

Rogue shuddered, fingers turning white as he gripped the sink. He took a deep breath, then turned on the water and splashed his face. His hair was still matted with blood and he did his best to rinse it out, then pulled it back into a ponytail to keep it out of his face. The motions were numb and unfocused, and even though his hands were shaking, he couldn’t feel his fingers.

Absently, Rogue brought his hand up to his forearm and traced the scars mapped into his skin. There were so many – some from fighting, some from Jiemma… most from his own hands.

An image of _her_ flashed through his head for a moment and Rogue dug his nails into his skin, letting out a quiet whimper.

She wasn’t here.

They were safe.

Rogue pushed the door open, stumbling out into the hall and colliding with what felt like a solid brick wall.

“Watch where the hell you’re goi—” A deep voice started to chastise him, then trailed off. Gajeel stared down at Rogue, strange expression on his face. “Ryos, huh?” Rogue scowled, feeling coming back to his fingers and anger spreading across his chest, hot and sharp.

“It’s Rogue,” he growled. After all those years of idolizing Gajeel, Rogue was much less overwhelmed by being around him than he’d thought he would be. Likely because he had for more important things to think about right now. As if reading his mind, a wave of pain ran through him and Rogue staggered backwards. Gajeel reached out to steady him and the touch was like a shock on Rogue’s shoulder.

Panicking, Rogue yanked his arm out of Gajeel’s grasp, tripping back against the wall. “Don’t,” he mumbled. He felt light-headed – the air was too thick, he couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not gonna hurt ya,” Gajeel grumbled in an oddly gently voice. “C’mon, you need to sit down. I’m sick of all those idiots snoring anyway.” He shot a dirty look back at the second bedroom, then gestured to Rogue to follow him.

They made their way outside the inn, Gajeel settling down on the front step and gesturing for Rogue to join him. Rogue settled down a respectable distance away from Gajeel, then leaned his arms forward on his knees and took a few deep breaths.

“You need Wendy?” Gajeel asked, looking concerned. Rogue shook his head. He probably did, but he didn’t want to bother anyone. He’d done enough of that already.

The two of them sat and looked out over the city. Sunlight peered through the buildings, burning away the morning mist and drawing color back into Crocus. Windows began to open, people shouting greetings in the streets, and Rogue felt a strange sense of satisfaction that the world was still the same.

Jiemma was dead, Sting was falling apart, and Rogue didn’t know what to do. But the world moved on, and it calmed some of the ache and fear.

Rogue and Gajeel sat in a strangely comfortable silence for a long time, watching the sun rise and letting the cool morning breeze wrap around them. Finally, Gajeel broke the silence.

“If Sting hadn’t already killed the guy, I woulda done it.” Gajeel’s voice was rough and Rogue looked over at him, a heavy weight settling in his chest. Sting had done it, then. Rogue wanted to be surprised, but he was too numb to take in any new feelings.

“You—”

“Gray an’ Natsu might’a beaten me there, though,” Gajeel continued, looking carefully over at Rogue, who frowned and shook his head.

“Why?” he asked softly, running his fingers over the cracked concrete, following the broken lines and exhaling at the rough sharpness on his fingertips. “You don’t even know us.”

“Hitting kids ain’t right,” Gajeel said gruffly. “One thing to throw down in the arena – and you ain’t bad, by the way – but kickin’ a kid around…” Rogue’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. Did everyone know? He brought his arms up and crossed them over his stomach.

He felt so naked, like everyone was pulling away pieces of him, wringing him out until there was nothing left. The urge to go back to the room and wrap himself around Sting was nearly unbearable, and Rogue dug his fingers into his biceps, trying to ground himself before he floated away.

“I didn’t… we couldn’t get away,” Rogue whispered shakily. “He hurt Sting so badly and I couldn’t _do_ anything.” Why was he telling this to Gajeel, of all people? “I wanted… and we were so cruel, I didn’t want to be—”

“Hey, breathe.” Gajeel looked mildly uncomfortable but didn’t move to stand. Rogue ran a hand over his face and wasn’t surprised to find tears there. His chest ached, and not just from the wounds. It hurt. Everything hurt.

A tiny, tiny part of him whispered, _a different kind of pain would be easier._

Rogue shook his head. He had to be better than that.

“I get it,” Gajeel rumbled after a moment. “You don’t think you deserve a second chance.” It was a statement, not a question. Rogue didn’t look up. “I didn’t either. I wasn’t… the best person. Before.” Gajeel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I hurt people here, did a lot of bad shit. But after it all- even though I hurt them, first thing they did was forgive me and ask me to join ‘em.”

“Why?” Rogue mumbled. It as the question that had been settling into his skin since he woke up to see Natsu standing behind Sting, staring at Rogue with sad eyes.

“They believe in us, kid.” Gajeel shrugged, then stood up and reached out a hand to Rogue. Rogue didn’t take it, pushing himself to his feet instead, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washed over him.

“’m okay,” he said, shaking his head and waving away Gajeel’s hand.

Gajeel gave him a look of disbelief but didn’t press the issue, following Rogue back into the building and stopping outside the room where Sting was still sleeping.

“You two…” Gajeel trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, you’ve got somethin’.” Rogue felt his cheeks flush, but Gajeel waved the embarrassment away. “I don’t mean any of that stuff, that’s between you and him. I mean loyalty. How many hits did he take for ya?” Rogue winced. “And how much would you risk for him?”

“Everything,” Rogue said immediately. Gajeel nodded, face serious.

“That’s what Fairy Tail is. Doing anything to protect the people you love.” There was an awkward silence, then Gajeel took a step back toward his room, nodding at Rogue. “Now it’s time for me to go pound your old guild into the dirt.”

 

* * *

 

Rogue slipped back into the room, closing the door softly behind him. He turned to see Sting sitting on the bed with his knees up against his chest and his chin resting on his forearms. Sting’s face was dark, but when he saw Rogue it brightened.

 _You okay?_ Sting asked with his hands, reaching out and pulling Rogue to sit down on the bed. He ran his fingers gently along Rogue’s cheek, then flicked the ponytail. _I like your hair._

 _Shut up._ Rogue flushed a deep red and ducked his gaze, embarrassed.

 _I’m serious,_ Sting insisted. _It’s cute._

 _I am the Shadow Dragon Slayer._ Even Rogue’s signing managed to look indignant. _I am NOT cute._

“You’re adorable, you dummy,” Sting whispered, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to Rogue’s nose. Rogue flushed an even deeper shade of red and mumbled something unintelligible, but Sting could see the hint of a smile on his lips.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, holding hands and evening out their breaths until they were synced. The numbness and panic from earlier started to dissipate with the breeze from the window, the feel of Sting’s thumb over Rogue’s fingers, the soft sense of safety that surrounded them.

Nobody was going to kick down the door and tear them apart.

 _Did you sleep okay?_ Sting asked eventually. Rogue nodded, surprised to find that it was true. Everything ached and he was exhausted, but he’d slept better than he had in years. It was probably because he wasn’t curled up in the corner, watching the door in fear, waiting for Sting to stumble in with broken bones and bruises.

Here, Sting was beside him, bruised and battered, but warm and alive and _safe._

There was a soft knock on the door and Natsu poked his head in.

“Hey,” he said quietly, raising his eyebrows. “Is this—can we come in?”

Rogue nodded and Natsu opened the door the rest of the way, Gray appearing behind him carrying several takeout boxes. Both boys settled down on the bed opposite Sting and Rogue, and Gray gestured to the food.

“Hungry?” he asked. Rogue’s stomach made an embarrassingly loud noise and he blushed, nodding and taking the food from Gray. Sting looked hesitant but Rogue gave him a look and he sighed, grabbing a set of chopsticks and sharing with Rogue.

The four of them sat in silence for a few minutes, and Rogue took the opportunity to study Natsu and Gray. They were both intently focused on their meals, and their knees were just barely touching as they sat next to each other on the bed. A nervous energy hovered around them – something in the way they didn’t quite look at each other.

“So, uh, how’re you feeling?” Natsu looked up at Rogue, and he was about to answer when Sting interrupted him.

“Fine.” Sting’s voice was tight and Rogue could feel him tensing, breath catching on the words. “It’s—we’re fine.”

“Oh.” Natsu looked uncertain, toying with his chopsticks. “Wendy, uh… she’s gonna come back again this afternoon.”

Sting didn’t respond, but Rogue could feel his discomfort, and he had a feeling that if Rogue hadn’t been there, Sting would have refused the help. Rogue sighed, moving his hand and running his fingers up Sting’s back.

“What…” Rogue’s voice was hesitant as he looked up at Natsu and Gray. “What happened to—do you know, is Sabertooth still…”

“They reformed under Minerva,” Gray said uncertainly. “Nobody seems to know anything about Jiemma – they’re not saying what happened.” Rogue swallowed and nodded, the overwhelming sensation from earlier trying to push its way back into his skin. “They’re still competing in the games.”

Sting’s hand made its way into Rogue’s and Rogue squeezed tightly. The idea of Jiemma being _dead_ – of Sting _killing_ someone, even someone as cruel as Jiemma – was still taking its time to work through Rogue’s brain. He couldn’t imagine how Sting felt.

“We’re gonna kick their asses,” Natsu said, giving Rogue a serious look, eyes bright with a mix of anticipation and anger. “Without you two they don’t stand a chance.” Rogue huffed out a short laugh at that, shaking his head.

The sound of someone clearing their throat in the doorway made the boys all jump, and Sting grasped Rogue’s hand tighter. Makarov was standing there, barely taking up half the space of the doorframe, but imposing, nonetheless.

“Are you doing all right?” Makarov’s voice was gentle as he stepped into the room, and Sting tensed next to Rogue. Before Sting could insist once again that they were ‘fine,’ Rogue squeezed his hand.

“Thank you,” Rogue said instead of answering the question. “We can’t ever repay you for this.”

Makarov waved away Rogue’s words, approaching the bed and placing a hand on Natsu’s knee. “There’s no need for thanks,” he said, looking at them solemnly. “You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like. I don’t think Sabertooth will come looking for you. They’re busy trying to win the games, and Minerva doesn’t seem the sentimental type.”

Rogue shuddered. He’d never particularly liked Minerva, although he knew full well that she had suffered under Jiemma for years as well. Maybe his death was freeing for her, too.

“I wish I had known sooner,” Makarov added, looking sadly at Sting, who stiffened next to Rogue. “I’m truly sorry that we weren’t able to help.”

Sting yanked his wrist from Rogue’s grasp and pushed himself up off the bed, knocking the box and chopsticks to the floor. His eyes were wide and he bared his teeth.

“We don’t need your _pity,”_ he spat, bunching his fists and backing away from them. “There was nothing… you couldn’t have… we didn’t need…” His breath was coming in short, sharp bursts and Rogue moved to reach out for him, but Sting growled and pulled away.

“I’m not pitying,” Makarov said gently. Rogue was very aware of Gray and Natsu’s presence, and he made eye contact with Gray, who gave him a soft look of understanding.

“You _are,”_ Sting insisted, clenching and unclenching his fists and shaking his head in anger. “We don’t need—it wasn’t…”

“Sting,” Natsu said gently, standing up and putting out his hands as if approaching a wild animal. Sting _was_ wild, Rogue thought. Wild and hurt and scared and furious at everything.

Rogue was too tired and numb to be angry.

“Don’t,” Sting growled, glaring at Natsu. “I could—we could’ve won that fight, and none of this would have happened.” Sting’s hands and voice were shaking and Rogue wanted to go to him, wanted to pull him in and stop him because he _knew_ Sting was going to regret his next words.

“It’s ok—” Natsu began, and Rogue knew he was too late.

“This is _your fault,”_ Sting hissed, glaring at Natsu with dark anger in his eyes. “It’s your—if we’d won, he never…” Sting swallowed, taking another step backwards. “This is just a fucking joke to you, it’s just… they’re just games for you. Playing for fun.”

“Sting, please,” Rogue said quietly, but Sting ignored him.

“It wasn’t a fucking _game_ for us,” Sting growled. “Rogue could have _died_ , and that—if you had lost, if it had been _you_ … but it was _us,_ and there were _consequences_ , and—”

“Sting.” Natsu’s dropped his hands, sighing and rubbing his face. “Please, we don’t—”

“Get. Out.” Sting’s voice was so low that Rogue could barely hear it. Natsu’s eyes widened and he glanced back at Gray, who stood slowly from the bed. “GET OUT!” Sting shouted, voice broken with tears and full of anger.

“Love, please.” Rogue’s words were unheard by Sting, whose hands were glowing now, bright and dangerous. Sting stepped forward, placing himself between Natsu and Rogue and clenching his fists.

“Leave,” Sting whispered, and Rogue could hear the fear that he was desperately trying to cover with anger. “Go away. Leave us ALONE!”

Gray stood quickly and moved forward to grab Natsu’s hand. Natsu’s face was etched with pain, and he looked like he was going to try to say something else, but Gray tugged on his fingers and gestured towards the door.

“Let’s give them some space,” Gray said quietly. Rogue’s eyes met Gray’s again and Rogue wondered what had happened to Gray, what he’d been through that let him understand this pain.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Sting’s magic dissipated and he dropped to his knees, body folding in itself as he let out a choked sob. Rogue slid out of the bed and down onto the floor, wrapping his arms around Sting and pulled him in close.

“I’m sorry,” Sting cried, letting Rogue hold him tightly. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Shhh, love,” Rogue murmured, wishing he could take some of the grief from Sting, force it into himself to replace the numbness that was heavy in his heart. The scars on his arms – and some fresh wounds – ached deeply, more than any bruise that Jiemma had inflicted.

Rogue ran his fingers through Sting’s hair, biting down on his own lip until the pain broke through the dullness and focused everything down into one small, sharp burst that he could manage.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, holding each other through their grief. Sting stopped crying several times only to start up a few minutes later, and each time it was different – quiet sobs, heartbroken cries, anguished whimpers. Sting was grieving each part of himself in an overwhelming torrent of emotion, and Rogue…

Rogue couldn’t feel anything at all. 


	5. we weren't built to break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gray is confused by Natsu, and Sting's embarrassed by his outburst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Gratsu Bingo 2019  
> Prompt: Trust
> 
> TW for discussion of childhood sexual abuse (not explicit)

“Don’t pout, Princess, I’ll be back before you can miss me.”

The words were light and teasing, but Natsu’s voice was uncertain, and Gray watched Natsu shove his hands in his pockets to try and hide the fact that they were shaking.

“Tch.” Gray snorted, trying to keep his voice steady. “As if I’d miss an idiot like you.”

Instead of a rebuttal there was an awkward silence that hung heavily in the air between them. They stood just outside the Inn, Gray leaning against the wall and Natsu shifting uncomfortably in front of him.

Gray sighed, trying to keep the frustration and fear from showing on his face. Why was this so fucking hard? Watching Natsu leave was never easy – even though he knew full well that the idiot could take care of himself – but after everything with Sting and Rogue…

“Just be careful, okay?” Gray said gruffly. He scratched at the gravel with the toe of his shoe, refusing to look up at Natsu. “I won’t have anyone to punch if you’re not around.”

“Yeah,” Natsu replied, and Gray looked up in surprise at the softness in Natsu’s voice. “You—you too. Kick Sabertooth’s asses, okay?” Natsu looked past Gray at the window to the Inn, tense lines in his jaw. “For…” Natsu hesitated, and he looked like he might cry.

“You know he didn’t mean it.” Gray sighed, standing up and rubbing his face. Natsu’s shoulders slumped even as he nodded, and Gray gave in, reaching out and grasping Natsu’s arm. “He’s angry and scared. It wasn’t your fault, and he knows that. He’s just hurting.”

Natsu swallowed, eyes darting down to Gray’s hand on his arm, then flicking back up to the window. “But, I—”

“It’s not your fault,” Gray interrupted, rubbing his thumb absently over Natsu’s bicep and taking a small step closer. “The only person to blame is dead. You’re an easy target for Sting’s anger.”

A cold sensation settled in Gray’s chest as hard, furious memories emerged.

_“I hate you!” Seven-year-old Gray’s hands trembled as he shouted, tears on his cheeks as he glared up at Ur. Her face was soft and gentle, and it stoked the hot rage simmering inside him. She had no right to be sad. She hadn’t lost everything._

_“Gray, I—”_

_“It’s your fault!” Gray cried. Frost raced across the floor and up the walls of the cabin, uneven patterns cracked and damaged, just like him. “It’s you—you didn’t come fast enough.” He could feel ice crystals creeping up his arms, freezing the tears on his cheeks, and he stepped backward, away from Ur._

_“Sweetheart,” Ur said softly, moving to crouch down next to Gray, and he screamed in frustration, turning and hitting the wall as hard as he could. The ice dissipated under his hand and the wood underneath scraped his knuckles. The pain was sharp, and he gasped, focusing on that instead of the aching, raging sea of grief inside of him._

_“Don’t call me that,” he sobbed, hitting the wall again. “You can’t—I want…” Another blow against the wall, red flecking his fingers. It hurt, but it was an easy hurt. Nothing like the emptiness that kept him awake every night, crying for his mother._

_“I’m so sorry,” Ur said softly, rocking back on her heels. “I know you miss them.”_

_“You don’t know!” Gray shouted, turning to her with wild, wet eyes. “You don’t—why didn’t you save them? Why didn’t you—” He dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around his stomach and letting harsh, pained cries tear out of him. “Leave me alone,” he sobbed, trying to hold in the pieces of himself so he didn’t fall apart. “I want my mama.”_

“Hey, you okay?” Gray blinked back to the present to see Natsu staring down at where Gray’s hand rested on his arm. Frost was creeping out from Gray’s fingers, pale against Natsu’s dark skin, and Gray exhaled, letting the magic dissipate.

“Yeah,” he said, realizing that Natsu had taken a small step forward, and the space between them was charged. Electric. The sensation was a stark contrast to his memories, and it made his head swim. “Just…”

Without warning, Natsu leaned in and pressed his lips to Gray’s cheek, feather-soft and barely there. Before Gray could react, Natsu pulled back, tugging his arm out of Gray’s grasp and taking a step toward the road.

“See ya,” Natsu said quietly. “Don’t lose.” Gray blinked, cheek still burning with the echo of Natsu’s lips as he brought his hand slowly to his face.

Before he could respond, Natsu flashed him a bright grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, then turned and took off down the street.

Gray stood for a long time outside the inn, eyes fixed on the spot where Natsu had been, fingers pressed to where Natsu’s lips had touched. What the hell had that meant? This morning Natsu had run away from him when they’d woken up together, and now this?

Why was that idiot so fucking confusing?

“How are they doing?” Erza appeared in front of Gray, look of concern on her face. Gray blinked, looking up at the window and then back to Erza.

“Not great?” Gray shook his head, running a hand through his hair. Erza nodded, moving over to lean against the wall next to Gray. They stood in silence for a while, listening to the roar of the crowd converging back toward the arena.

“We’re up soon,” Erza said eventually. She paused, turning to look at Gray seriously, then added, “he’ll be okay.”

Heat rushed to Gray’s cheeks and he looked at the ground, furiously kicking at the gravel.

“Tch, I don’t care about that stupid—”

“Gray.” Erza squeezed Gray’s shoulder gently and he stubbornly refused to look at her. “I’ve known you forever. I’m not blind.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gray muttered petulantly. He could practically hear Erza rolling her eyes and he sighed, pushing off the wall. “I’m gonna go check on them.”

Erza gave him a fond smile and he retaliated with a scowl. “See you there,” she said, nodding at him and heading down the street.

 

* * *

 

Rogue helped Sting up onto the bed and brushed his hair from his face, kissing Sting’s forehead gently. Sting sighed, tipping his head up to catch Rogue’s lips with his own.

 _Sorry,_ he signed. Shame was clear all over his face, which was reddened and blotchy from crying. Rogue shook his head.

_It’s okay._

_It’s not._ Sting sniffed, wiping his face with the back of his hand. _They’ve been so nice and I..._ He trailed off, staring at the floor on the other side of the bed. He chewed his already bloody lip and Rogue ran his thumb over it, nudging Sting’s chin until they were looking at each other.

Sting’s face was usually an impassive façade – everything he felt hidden between a sneer, a glare, a lip curled up in contempt. But the mask was shattered now, and all the pride and arrogance were gone, replaced by a terrified, heartbroken boy who could barely hold onto enough anger to push everyone away.

Sting looked down at Rogue’s hands and ran his thumb over Rogue’s wrist, pushing back his sleeve just far enough to see the edges of thin, white marks against his skin. He brought Rogue’s wrist up to his lips and kissed the scars gently.

Rogue tensed against the sensation, tempted to pull away. There were so many scars there – so many pieces of himself that he’d hurt. Jiemma hadn’t been the only nightmare they’d endured in Sabertooth.

A hot burst of discomfort of flushed through Rogue and his eyes widened as realization hit him.

 _I don’t—we don’t have to go back,_ he signed. Sting shook his head, sad eyes on Rogue’s. _She’s—Lilith. She can’t…_ Rogue ran a thumb over the scar on Sting’s forehead and exhaled shakily around flashes of memory.

_Rogue was twelve, exhausted and bruised, curled up in the corner of their room in the dark. When the door slid open, relief flooded through him, then quickly turned to terror when he realized that it wasn’t Sting._

_“Hey, darling.” A soft voice, dark hair, rough hands that wandered to places they shouldn’t when they trained together. Lilith was nobody, just another peon of Jiemma’s, someone cruel and cold and calculating that took what she wanted._

_“No,” Rogue whispered, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Please.”_

_“You’re pretty when you’re scared.” Fingers on his cheek, hand in his hair, breath too close to him._

_By the time Sting stumbled into the room it was too late. Lilith was gone and Rogue wouldn’t speak, consumed by shame and shadows._

“Hey, look at me.” Rogue blinked, pulling himself back to the present as Sting pressed their foreheads together. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“Not your fault,” Rogue said, shaking off the memory. The scars on his arm itched.

There was a soft tap at the door and Sting sighed, rubbing his face. Rogue squeezed his hand, then gestured for Sting to lie down.

“Let me deal with it,” he said softly. Sting looked like he was going to protest but Rogue shook his head, letting go of Sting’s hand. “Please.” Sting nodded reluctantly, and his exhaustion was obvious as he slumped down against the pillow.

Gray was at the door. He looked hesitant, eyes searching Rogue’s face for permission to be there. Rogue let him in wordlessly, gesturing to a bed on the other end of the room from Sting, who had turned away from them to face the wall.

“I’m sorry,” Rogue said, but Gray waved the apology away, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

“I get it.” There was that expression again – not pity, not sympathy, but understanding. Rogue was tempted to ask, but thought of his own scars and wrapped his arms around himself instead.

“The, uh—the games are wrapping up,” Gray said hesitantly. “We’re going to the arena. You can stay here, if you want – Freed put an enchantment up to keep anyone but us out.” He played with his bracelet, then looked up at Rogue again. “When Gramps said you could stay... he didn’t mean just for now. You can come back with us. If you want.” 

Rogue blinked at him. “You mean—”

“Join Fairy Tail, yeah.” Gray’s gaze flicked over to Sting, who appeared to have fallen asleep again. “Obviously you don’t have to decide now, it’s just... you don’t have to leave, or go back. You’re safe here.”

“Safe,” Rogue repeated. Could that be real? No more cuts, bruises, broken bones – no more waiting up and holding his breath that Sting would come back in one piece, if at all? No more _her,_ no more touches or words or looks that made Rogue want to tear himself into a million pieces.

“You okay?” Gray asked. “I mean, that’s a stupid question, but… do you need anything?”

Rogue couldn’t find the words. It was all so much, and tiny slivers of fear and relief were piercing through the numbness, prickling at the back of his neck and making his skin feel too tight.

“Rogue?”

Rogue looked back at Gray and realized that he’d been sitting there for too long without saying anything. Sting always said it was one of the reasons that people thought he was strange.

“No, we’re… not okay, but getting there.” Rogue sighed, rubbing his face. “Sting feels terrible about what he said to Natsu. He’s embarrassed. If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t have stayed. He doesn’t want to be weak.”

“Asking for help isn’t weak,” Gray replied. “Swallowing your pride isn’t easy. Nastu – that idiot – has saved my life on more than one occasion. Believe me, I know it stings.” A faint blush rose in Gray’s cheeks and a tiny hint of a smile quirked at the corner of Rogue’s lips.

“Thank you for letting us stay.”

“Hey, it just means we have six dragon slayers on our team now.” Gray stood up and gave Rogue a tentative smile. “All we’re missing is Cobra and we’d have the whole set. Is there some sort of bonus for collecting you all?” Rogue rolled his eyes.

Gray glanced out the window – the sun was high, and the crowds were still pouring from the streets towards the arena.

“I’d better get going,” Gray said, then gave Rogue a solemn look. “We’ll be back after we win this thing.”

The idea of Gray pounding their former guild into the dirt was appealing, but part of Rogue ached. Jiemma hadn’t been kind to the others, either.

As Gray reached for the door it swung open, and a tiny voice shouted, “Fro missed Rogue!” Rogue’s eyes widened and he crouched down to scoop up Frosche, exhaling in relief as he held the little Exceed to his chest.

“Frosche,” he murmured as Gray gave him one last wave and headed out the door. “Are you okay?”

“Happy gave us fish!” Frosche gave Rogue a wide smile and gestured to Lector, who had hopped up on the bed next to Sting and had burrowed under Sting’s arm in an uncharacteristically affectionate way. “Is Rogue hurt?” Frosche’s face became serious and they put their paws on either side of Rogue’s face.

“A little,” Rogue admitted, unable to hide the bandages or bruises. “But we’re safe here now.”

“Frosche can stay with Happy?” Frosche seemed thrilled by the idea and it drew a small laugh from Rogue’s throat. He made his way across the room as Frosche began to chant _fish, fish, fish._

Sting clung to Lector as if he were a doll. Lector’s fur was damp, and Sting didn’t look up as Rogue sat down next to him. Rogue ran his fingers down Sting’s arm gently, then shuffled down on the bed until they were laying down, facing each other.

Sting’s eyes were so blue, and Rogue gazed into them as he ran a gentle thumb over Sting’s lower lip. Sting made a soft sound and closed his eyes as Rogue leaned forward and kissed him. It was soft and sweet and chaste, but Rogue pushed as much of himself into it as he could.

Eventually, Lector’s grumbling about them being ‘gross’ broke them apart, and Sting actually laughed, letting Lector escape to sit at the end of the bed with Frosche.

“Are we ever gonna be okay?” Sting asked quietly, leaning forward and burying his face in Sting’s neck.

“Maybe,” Rogue said after a while. “Maybe not.” Sting huffed into Rogue’s shoulder. “I know that’s not the answer you’re looking for. But we’ve made it this far, right?” Sting nodded miserably and Rogue kissed his head. “And no matter what,” he added quietly, “we’ll always have each other.”


	6. becoming a hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fairy Tail wins the games and Sting and Rogue finally start to feel safe, but a new disaster pops up in the form of dragons.

Sting and Rogue sat on the bed for a long time. They could hear the shouts and muffled commentary from the stadium but couldn’t make out any words until an ear-splitting cheer filled the air, and the announcer’s voice boomed out – “The winner of the Grand Magic Games is… Fairy Tail!”

Sting felt the ball of tension in his chest immediately unwind at the words, and when he looked up, he was surprised to see the hint of a smile on Rogue’s face. Sting squeezed Rogue’s hand tightly, letting relief and an undercurrent of excitement run through him.

“It’s over,” he murmured, and Rogue gave him a soft look, reaching up and running his fingers through Sting’s hair. Sting leaned in and kissed him, bringing his hand up to brush against Rogue’s neck.

“That feels nice,” Rogue whispered. Sting laughed and pressed their lips together harder, then slowly began to trail gentle kisses down across Rogue’s cheek. Rogue tensed for a second, then relaxed into the touch, letting out a contented sigh when Sting’s lips brushed the hollow of his throat.

Sting moved back up until he and Rogue were eye to eye, enjoying the pink flush that dusted Rogue’s cheeks. A smile made its way over Sting’s lips, and he kissed the corner of Rogue’s mouth.

“You okay?” he asked softly, rubbing his thumb behind Rogue’s ear. “If you don’t want to, it’s—”

“I do,” Rogue murmured, pressing their foreheads together and leaning into the sensation of Sting’s fingers on his neck. “Just… slow, okay?” He swallowed, and Sting knew he was pushing away thoughts of cruel hands and dangerous touch.

“Whatever you need,” Sting murmured. The sun was beginning to set, and the evening light cast an ethereal glow across Rogue’s skin. _He’s gorgeous,_ Sting thought. Rogue was perfect, and Sting wasn’t going to let anyone hurt him ever again.

Sting began to kiss down Rogue’s neck again, tugging out Rogue’s ponytail and running his fingers through Rogue’s hair. Rogue hummed, drifting his fingers down Sting’s side, brushing lightly over his bandages.

“I trust you,” Rogue said softly, and Sting hummed against Rogue’s throat, eliciting a soft moan. Rogue’s fingers gripped Sting’s hip gently, letting out a soft whimper when Sting’s sharp teeth brushed the skin of his neck. Sting tightened his fingers in Rogue’s hair, shifting until they were pressed against each other, chest-to-chest, and—

“Hey, you guys gonna – oh.”

Sting and Rogue froze at Gray’s voice and immediately pulled apart, Rogue awkwardly trying to find a place for his hands while Sting pushed himself off the bed. Sting tried to sit in the chair Gray had been in before but stumbled, missing it entirely and ending up in a heap on the floor. He tried desperately to steady his breathing and push away the hot flush that crept up into his cheeks.

“S-sorry,” Gray said from the doorway, eyes on the floor and one hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. Sting pushed himself up to standing, dusting himself off and refusing to make eye contact. “I didn’t—”

“No, it’s—it’s fine,” Rogue insisted, voice wavering a bit. “What’s going on?”

“The, uh, king wants everyone to come to the square,” Gray said, keeping his gaze averted. His own cheeks were pink with embarrassment. “We’re heading there now, if you wanna, y’know- unless you’re busy. You’re probably busy.” He grabbed the door and moved to head out when Sting responded.

“We’ll be right there.”

 

* * *

 

By the time they made it to the square, it was packed, and people were cheering and waving their fists in the air. Every wizard from every guild in the tournament seemed to be there, and when Sting saw Rufus standing near the fountain with Orga, he felt a spike of panic flare up in his chest. Rufus’ eyes widened when he saw Sting, but Sting quickly looked away, eyes flicking around the crowd until he saw Gray.

“What’s going on?” Sting asked when they got close. Gray turned to him, arms crossed over his chest, face drawn in a frown.

“Dragons are coming,” Gray said, voice hesitant and confused. Sting blinked at him incredulously.

“But… there are no more dragons,” Sting argued, looking over at Rogue. “They’re gone, they left.”

“Apparently not,” Gray said, chewing on his lip. He glanced in the direction of the castle, and Sting followed his gaze. “There’s some sort of weapon up at Mercurius. Natsu’s there now, he’s…”

Suddenly Gray’s anxiety made a lot more sense.

“Haven’t you two killed dragons before?” Sting flinched at Gajeel’s voice. He turned to see Gajeel leaning against the fountain, arms crossed over his chest. 

Sting sighed. The lie he they told for so many years was finally catching up to them.

“It’s… it wasn’t quite like that,” he admitted.

_Sting stared up at Weisslogia, tears in his eyes, shaking his head furiously and throwing himself into the dragon’s embrace._

_“I can’t,” Sting sobbed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Please, don’t make me, I can’t.”_

The memory faded and Sting was left with nothing but the sensation of scales under his fingers, and a deep sense of grief in his heart.

“They were sick,” Rogue said softly, squeezing Sting’s hand. “All we did was end their suffering.”

Nobody said anything, and Sting could see Gray looking at them sadly out the corner of his eye. Part of him felt like shouting, and the other part was too tired to care.

“What are we supposed to do?” he asked, looking around at the crowd.

Gray shrugged, rubbing his face. “I guess all we can do is wait.”

 

* * *

 

It was too quiet. The air was thick with tension, and Sting paced restlessly. Makarov had ordered Fairy Tail to remain in the central plaza while the rest of the guilds spread out through the city and evacuated the townspeople. Now everyone was waiting nervously for any news from the castle. It had been several hours, and nothing had happened yet.

Rogue sat on a bench next to the fountain, letting Porlyusica attempt another healing spell on him. Sting watched as her hands hovered over Rogue’s chest, and a sick feeling crawled in his stomach. It had been less than twenty-four hours since Jiemma had given Rogue that gruesome wound.

Since Sting had killed Jiemma.

A rush of cold washed through Sting. All the thoughts that he’d been desperately shoving away were suddenly pushing their way to the surface, and he felt like he was going to be sick. The sound of Rogue’s head hitting the floor filled his ears, then the memory of the white-hot rage that had exploded from Sting and _killed_ someone.

A wave of nausea washed over Sting and he spun around, pushing past people he didn’t recognize and running into the maze of hedges. His chest tightened as his pulse continued to race – he needed Rogue, but he couldn’t go back. The red moon cast a garish light around him, and he looked down at his hands, somehow expecting them to be covered in Rogue’s blood again.

What was happening?

Sting rubbed his hands together, startled to find that they were tingling. He reached out to touch the hedge leaves and they were solid under his fingers, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t really there. What the hell was going on? He shook his head, trying to clear out the strange feeling, but it wouldn’t go away. Everything was fuzzy. The ground under him seemed to sway and he stumbled backward, tripping and falling into someone.

“Hey, you okay?”

The person in front of him was familiar, somehow, but Sting couldn’t place them. He shook his head, staring again at his hands. Why didn’t they feel real? Why didn’t _he_ feel real?

“Sting.” The figure in front of him crouched down – when had he fallen? “Sting, look at me.” Trying to calm his breathing, Sting listened to the voice. Blonde hair. Tall. Scar through his eye. Why couldn’t he remember? “Sting, it’s Laxus.”

Sting didn’t reply, breath caught in his throat, heart beating so fast that he was suddenly certain he was going to die.

“What can you see around you?” Laxus was sitting next to him now, close but not touching. “Tell me what you see.”

Sting looked around desperately, part of him wanting to escape himself, to run away and leave this broken, terrified body behind. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t—

“Sting. What can you see?”

“F-flowers,” Sting gasped, naming the first thing his eyes landed on. “Th-the moon, it’s red, and… and grass, the rocks…” Each thing he named brought his heart rate down a tiny bit, pulled him back into himself a little more.

“Good,” Laxus said. “What can you hear?” Sting shook his head, trying to focus on the sounds around him instead of the thundering of his heart and the pounding of blood in his ears.

“People talking,” he whispered. He could see Laxus nodding beside him, and he forced himself to keep going. “W-wind, the… your heartbeat.” Sting ran his hands over his face, feeling his breathing start to even out.

“What can you touch?” Laxus asked.

“The ground.” Sting dug his fingers into the gravel, feeling the sharp edges of the rocks cutting into his hand. The pain sharpened everything, brought the world around him back into focus. “I can… I’m okay.” He shook his head, glancing over at Laxus. “What happened?”

“You freaked out a bit, that’s all,” Laxus replied, leaning back to look at Sting.

“I didn’t feel real,” Sting said quietly. Laxus nodded.

“That’s why you gotta focus on what _is_ real. What you see, feel. Y’know.” Laxus looked at the ground. Now that Sting was back in himself, he could see the awkwardness on Laxus’ face.  

“How do you…” Sting trailed off.

“Have you seen my dad?” Laxus grumbled, not meeting Sting’s gaze. Sting recalled the fight between Ivan and Laxus – how Ivan had been willing to kill his own son. He shuddered.

“Thank you,” Sting said quietly. Laxus shrugged, pushing himself to his feet and offering Sting a hand up. Sting felt light-headed, but the world around him seemed solid again. He took a deep breath, rubbing his face and looking around them.

A deafening roar split the sky like thunder and Sting shouted in pain, clapping his hands over his ears and seeing Laxus do the same. Laxus looked over at Sting in disbelief as the ground around them shook – Sting could feel his teeth knock together from the sensation. What the hell was—

 _Rogue._ Sting kept his hands over his ears and dashed back through the maze, heart pounding in panic as he looked through the crowd. Luckily, Rogue was where he’d been when Sting had left, wincing in pain and covering his own ears.

“Rogue,” Sting gasped, crouching down next to the bench. Rogue looked down at him, wide-eyed, and Sting was about to say something when a second roar split the air, followed by terrified screaming. He watched in horror as something exploded near the castle, and a line of destruction ploughed through the city. Buildings crumbled, giant pieces of rock and rubble flying through the air.

“Sting, that was—” Rogue’s voice was shaky, and Sting reached up to grab his wrists, pulling him close. The ground began to shake erratically, and in the distance, Sting could see flames billowing up into the air.

“Move!” Gray’s voice was sharp in Sting’s ear, and Gray grabbed Sting’s arm, gesturing away from the center of the square. Sting quickly stood and pulled Rogue to his feet, clasping Rogue’s hand as they began to run. The ground shuddered and shook, and Sting could hear crashing and bellowing behind them. A deep, primal fear lit in the center of his stomach, and he forced himself not to look back.

“C’mon, get behind—” Gray’s voice was cut off by a sound like fireworks exploding, and an intense heat began to lick up Sting’s back. A look of terror crossed Gray’s face as he glanced back over Sting’s shoulder, and Sting forced himself to turn and face whatever it was behind them.

It was a dragon.

“Oh my gods,” Sting whispered, stepping backward and tugging Rogue behind him. An enormous shape made entirely of flame loomed over them, snarling and snapping and taking up much more space than it should have.

The flame dragon let out a ground-shaking bellow as a blast of fire shot from its maw. Before Sting could react, the fireball hit the ground in front of them and exploded. Sting threw himself at Gray and Rogue, pushing them back as far as he could as flames licked up the backs of his legs and singed his arms. The smell of burnt skin filled the air, and Sting stumbled to his feet, gagging.

All around him, the air was filled with screams and cries of pain.

Fingers dug into Sting’s arms and he could see that Rogue was shouting something, but it was lost in the din of the disaster behind them. Blood pounded in Sting’s ears and he sucked in deep breaths to combat the searing pain on the back of his arms.

Another blast. More fire. Pieces of the ground exploded, and a chunk of rubble hit Gray on the forehead as he staggered forward. Blood poured down his face, but he ignored it, helping Rogue grab Sting’s arms and drag him away from the hellish scene.

“N-no,” Sting mumbled, pulling his arm out of Gray’s grasp. They couldn’t hide from this. “We can’t run, we—we have to…” He trailed off, turning to face the dragon as white light began to flicker up his arms.

“There’s no way we can fight that,” Gray gasped, wiping blood from his eyes. “It’s…” He looked past the flaming dragon into the city, and shook his head helplessly, fingers digging into Sting’s bicep. “There’s too many, the city, it’s—”

“We have to,” Sting insisted, pulling away from Gray’s touch and looking desperately at Rogue. Everything screamed at him to run from his body, to escape the pain, to do anything but face this dragon, but he was done running. “We’re the only ones who can.”

Everything slowed around them as Sting and Rogue gazed at each other, a million words passing between them without ever being spoken.

Gray’s soft, incredulous voice interrupted their exchange. “Holy shit,” he whispered, staring up at the sky. Sting followed his gaze and his eyes widened when he saw another dragon, blocking out the bloody light of the moon.

A brilliant burst of flames exploded from the dragon’s back, and Sting sucked in sharp breath. Natsu was up there. The dragon was monstrous – maybe even bigger than the flaming one on the ground – and it made Sting feel unreal. Insignificant.

“I can’t believe that idiot,” Gray murmured, shaking his head. “How the hell… what does he think he’s…” Sting hesitated for only a second before reaching out and grabbing Gray’s shaking hand.

Natsu was shouting something from the dragon’s back as flashes of flame leapt from place to place. Sting could just make out another figure on the dragon’s back – someone unfamiliar. Most of Natsu’s speech was lost behind the flame dragon’s roar and the sound of crumbling buildings, but his last words rang through.

_This is what our magic is for._

“We can do this,” Sting said softly. “Natsu’s gonna be okay.” The comforting words felt unfamiliar on his tongue and he expected them to taste bitter, but a warmth spread through his chest as he watched the uncertainty on Gray’s face harden into resolve.

Laxus appeared behind Gray and a flash of lightning cut through the air, arcing from Laxus’ outstretched hand and crashing into the fire dragon. It roared at him, but Laxus didn’t flinch. “Go,” he said to Sting and Rogue. “I’ll take this one.” Sparks raced around him as he stared the dragon down, casting him in a frightening silhouette.

“I got that one over there,” Gajeel said, wiping blood from his face as he pushed through the rest of the guild to stand on Sting’s other side. He pointed to another enormous form just north of their position. “You two head that way.” He looked at Sting and Rogue and gestured to the south, where buildings were crumbling, and pieces of the city were exploding into flame.

A soft, warm light ripped through the hurt inside of Sting and filled him with something that might have been courage.

“Get everyone out of here,” he said, turning back to Gray and squeezing his hand. “We can handle this.”

Gray looked like he might protest, but he was already swaying on his feet, blood dripping down his cheek from the cut on his head. Sting pushed him gently toward the rest of the guild, and eventually Gray nodded.

 _We can do this,_ Sting thought, turning back to look at the dragons. Bright, holy light burst through his fingers, fueled by anger and terror and exhaustion and pride. Rogue stepped closer to him, shadows mingling with Sting’s light, and Sting took a step forward, fists clenched.

If he was going to die, he was going to die doing something right.

 


End file.
